


Sweet Hoops

by Lady_Anonymia



Category: Video Blogging RPF, jacksepticeye, markiplier - Fandom
Genre: Artist! Jack, But Like For A Good Reason, But in a different way, Dad! Mark, Fluff, I really need to learn how to tag, Jack is awkward, M/M, Mark is also awkward, Pining!Jack, Quality Banter, Read on to find out!!! (NOT CLICKBAIT), Self-Insert, Someone almost gets run over, a little bit meta, but who???, doughnuts, i guess?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-08
Updated: 2017-06-24
Packaged: 2018-10-28 10:20:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10829286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Anonymia/pseuds/Lady_Anonymia
Summary: A chance meeting at a local doughnut shop between the author and a stranger triggers a catastrophe and an unlikely start to a love story. Based on true events. I watched these things happen with my OWN EYES. Sometimes truth is stranger than fanfiction. Other times, you just write truth into a fanfiction.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to my lovely beta-reader and friend, Janeway_in_a_TARDIS! She has other names. Many names. Check out one of them!

I was sitting outside of my favorite doughnut shop, Sweet Hoops, furiously coloring a picture my friend had drawn me. It was the middle of May, and so hot that I could see the waves of heat radiating off the pavement. I was waiting for my castmates to get the free doughnut of the day by singing Bohemian Rhapsody. While I wasn’t keen on rehearsing on an empty stomach, I’d pretty much O.D’ed on doughnuts during my study hall, so I passed on another diabetes-inducing freebie this time.

Sweet Hoops is a tiny, family-owned shop—fitting more than twenty customers inside would be an impossible feat—but it had nationally acclaimed doughnuts, and for good reason. I’m pretty sure one of the ingredients is cocaine or something. It was common to stop by for a doughnut or a coffee and see a line down the sidewalk of people waiting to get their fix, sort of like the line my cast was standing in now.

Luckily, there are some shaded chairs outside of Sweet Hoops for people like me, who don’t want to stand up while their friends wait for doughnuts. So there I was, sitting fairly comfortably in the shade of a yellow-and-orange-striped awning, trying to balance my work in progress on a large coloring book. When I wasn’t doing that, I was discreetly people-watching behind the dark cover of my transition lenses.

Quite the assortment of people was out today, stranger than you’d normally see. There’d be the occasional oddball on a slow day—a woman dressed like the Monopoly mascot came to mind, as well as a pair of neon-colored furries I had seen the other week—but today’s crowd was...diverse. A clown in smudged makeup chomping on a cigar, my amorphous blob of castmates, and four girls dressed identically who were at least six feet tall were among those in line.

Sitting a few chairs away from me was another character who definitely wasn’t as weird as the people in line. A young-looking guy, wearing a white snapback, a shirt I recognized from Overwatch, and black, ripped jeans. His hair (what little I could see of it, anyways) was a light green, and his clothes were a mess. There were paint stains all over the shirt and the jeans. His arms were littered with colored streaks, stark against the paleness of his skin. The tips of his fingers were dusted white with chalk, and he kept rubbing them onto his jeans, leaving light rows in the blackness.

“I like your shirt,” I said, and he flinched at the compliment and stole a glance at me.

“Uh, thanks,” he replied. He had an accent—not Scottish, maybe Irish?—and I wondered what he was doing sitting outside a doughnut shop in America, not even looking at a phone or anything like a weirdo.

“Sorry, if this is weird of me to ask, but are you...waiting for someone?”

“Actually, yeah, my, uh, a friend of mine is s’posed to be driving me back to his house. Don’t know if he actually, uh, knows where I am.”

“Do you need to call him?” I asked, going for the phone in the depths of my bag. “You can use my phone, if you want—”

“No, no, it’s fine, I have mine. I’m just hangin’ out here, you know? People-watchin’, enjoyin’ the hot-as-balls weather.” I snickered, and his mouth turned up a little. “You get people like this here often?” He nodded towards the slightly shorter line of people still filing into Sweet Hoops. I looked up and the cigar clown gave me a nasty look. I stuck my tongue out at him.

“They’re not usually this weird,” I replied apologetically.

A lull in our short conversation descended. I went back to my coloring, and he went back to looking nervous and out-of-place, though less so than before. A few quiet minutes passed between us, even though the ruckus in and outside the shop made the whole place anything but quiet.

“Hey, did you color that?”

I was shocked out of my intense focus and clutched at the bag on my lap, barely keeping the large coloring book inside from sliding out. With some difficulty, I shoved the book deeper into the bag and pointed near where he was pointing, at the picture I was working on.

“Do you mean this?”

He shook his head no, and I realized how stupid the question was. Obviously he saw me coloring the picture, that couldn’t be what he was referring to. “I mean the bag,” he clarified. “It’s really well done. Color scheme is perfect.”

I looked down at the bag, still bulging with my art and crochet supplies. I had colored it myself, in fact: it was a gift from my aunt, who had the uncanny habit of only giving gifts that were practical and artistic.

“Yeah,” I replied shyly, fiddling with the bag’s black zipper. “I really like coloring if you couldn’t tell, so...” I shrugged.

“Have you seen me?” He gestured at the paint on his arms: coral pink streaks, sea green splatter, sky blue smudges, all soft pastels. “I make murals for a livin’; paintin’ pays my bills.” He snorted. “Colorin’ fiends, the both of us.”

I allowed myself a giggle, and slid the picture back in my bag, removing my round loom and threading hook instead.

“Jesus, what else’s in there, an easel?”

I chuckled, and he hesitated for a moment, then held out his hand. “I’m Seán. I go by Jack, though.”

I took his hand and gave it a firm shake. “I’m Astrid! I go by Astrid, though.”

A loud well-timed laugh came from near the middle of the winding line. I jumped, startled, before setting my jaw in disappointment when I saw where it had come from.

“You know those people?” Jack asked.

“Unfortunately,” I joked, watching the group sing off-key together. “We’re castmates. Love ‘em to death, but they’re...strange birds.”

“What theatre are you guys at?”

“It’s just a high school production. I go to the school across the street.”

“Lucky you, havin’ a doughnut place right across the way, huh?”

“Not if you’re trying to lose weight it’s not.”

He grinned and started to say something when a dull ringing sounded. He slipped his phone out of his pocket and looked at the screen.

“Ooh, friend’s callin’. I’ll have to make my witty comment in a sec. Save my seat?” He got up and stepped behind the building to take the call. I didn’t know how long he was going to be out, so I took my crochet back up and kept working.

Only about five minutes had passed when I felt a tug from the end of the gloves I was crocheting. I looked up to see a young boy with fine blond hair and greyish-blue eyes, looking intently at the bright yellow of the gloves and digging his fingers into the yarn.

“Hi, there,” I said, waving a little. “Do you like my gloves? I worked really hard on them, ya know. I can't just let you have 'em, though: they're not done yet.”

His eyes started watering and he whimpered a little as he saw me looking at him and tried to get his fat fingers out of the woven loops.

“Hey, shhhh, it's okay, you're not in trouble. Just let me help ya out, honey,” I murmured, carefully pulling his fingers out. He stretched his hand, and wrapped a fist around my pointer finger, pulling on it as if to get me to follow him.

I giggled like a stereotypical schoolgirl. Babies just have that effect on me.

“I’m not just gonna follow ya, sweetie,” I told him, rubbing my thumb over his hand. I lowered my voice conspiratorially. “I’m not supposed to go anywhere with strangers.” He smiled, three small teeth peeking out from behind his lips like he got the joke. I sucked in my cheeks and crossed my eyes and he laughed. “Again, again!” he demanded.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Jack coming back while another man power-walked towards me. They looked to be about the same height, although the stranger was more well-built, with more angular features. By the time I’d processed the situation and begun to say something, it was too late. It wasn’t a huge collision or anything, just enough to throw both of them off balance. There was a pause as the two looked at each other for a moment, before the man, dazed, brushed his black hair out of his eyes and reset his glasses. A blushing Jack snapped out of whatever standing coma he'd fallen into and mumbled an apology. I noticed that he sat next to me this time.

The man gave Jack an cryptic look and came over to me and the boy, who was chewing on his fist and babbling at me.

“Hi,” he said to me, kneeling down and pulling a plastic ring out of his back pocket. It’s like a rattle, and the noise it makes when the man shakes it gets there baby's attention. “Sorry about him. I really need to teach him about personal space. Come on, Halden, come to Daddy,” the man coaxed, but the boy put his other hand on my finger and moved closer to me, giggling.

He clicked his tongue, and stood. “Alright, bud, let go of the poor lady,” he said, picking him up. With a rebellious reluctance, Halden finally let go of me, pushing at his dad’s face instead. He made grabby motions at me, blowing raspberries.

“Hi there, Halden,” I cooed, wiggling my fingers at him, and he clapped happily and leaned towards me again.

“Okay, let’s go, kid,” the man laughed, rolling his eyes. Halden's eyes squeezed shut, and with a shrill “No!,” he hurled the toy to the ground.

The man sighed like he’d seen this a thousand times and set Halden down again. “Listen, I’m not even going to get you a doughnut at this rate, ya scamp.” He bent over to retrieve the toy, and that’s when Halden dashed, away from the shop and straight towards the road.

People say that when an accident is about to happen, time slows down, but no matter how many times you hear someone say it you will only understand it when you experience it yourself. The black truck speeding up the lane towards the intersection seemed to be moving at a crawl, and Halden was frozen in the middle of the road, still as a statue, arms extended and stubby fingers splayed in front of him. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the scene, couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe: the only way I knew time hadn’t stopped was because I could hear the rushing of blood in my ears.

From out of the corner of my eyes I saw a figure moving quickly, more quickly than I probably have ever moved in my life, towards the small child. An intake of breath, a blink, and Jack was standing on the sidewalk, hugging Halden to his chest, breathing hard, eyes wide, looking like he had been punched in the stomach. The car zoomed by, clearly over the speed limit, and Halden leaned towards his father, grabbing at him. Taking small steps on shaky legs, Jack walked over to the other man.

Silent tears were flowing from his eyes, and his hands were over his mouth in shock. Jack stood in front of him for a moment, and the man didn’t make an effort to move or speak. Some of the people in line had started to catch on to what had happened, and were murmuring amongst themselves. Halden, seeing that his dad had started crying, screwed up his face and wailed.

“Da-da,” Halden bawled, pushing against Jack to try and cross the small gap between the two. “Da-da!”

Jack chuckled, a breathy sound that gave away how shaken he was. “You should prob’ly take him back. I don’t think he likes me very much.”

The man’s responding laugh was more of a shuddering sob, and he held his arms out for the young boy to crawl into. Halden’s crying quieted some as the man held him. “It’s okay, you’re okay. Daddy’s got you, you’re gonna be okay.” The man kissed his forehead, stroking his hair and swaying a bit.

“Thank you,” he whispered to Jack, eyes still half-closed, rocking the toddler on his shoulder. “Thank you.”

Jack gave a bashful smile and walked back to me. Before he could sit, the man had grabbed him by the shoulder. Jack almost jumped out of his skin, but he managed to turn around.

“Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you,” the man began kindly, “but you saved my son's life and I don't even know what your name is.”

“I'm nobody, honestly.”

“If nobody had saved my son, he would be...he wouldn't be here anymore.” He looked at Halden fondly, who was yawning and trying to get comfortable. “You’re someone to me.”

Jack blushed lightly. “Really, it's—”

“I'm Mark. This is my son, Halden. He's one year old but he turns two in August. I'm 27 and turning 28 in...about a month, actually. I live in a sort of box-shaped yellow house, like, four blocks from here, and I work as a graphic designer. Now you have to introduce yourself to me. It'd be rude otherwise,” he finished firmly.

Jack looked flabbergasted. “That...was a lot of information.”

“I’ve been told I’m a chronic oversharer,” Mark shrugs. “Can I know your name now?”

I snickered to myself as Jack hesitantly took his hand. “Um, I'm Seán—Jack.” Mark shot him a confused look, and Jack nods to himself as if to assure himself that that is actually his name. “Yeah. I’m Jack. I-I don’t—I don’t really know what to say other than that.”

Mark tilted his head and his brow furrowed. “You don’t have to say anything else, if you’re uncomfortable. Sorry, I know I can be a little over-friendly with people—”

“No, no, it’s not you, I’m just sort of—I don’t know, I’m...still trying to get my bearings, I guess. A lot happened, really fast, and my brain’s trying to catch up.”

“Believe me, you’re not the only one,” Mark agreed, grimacing. “Well, Jack, thank you again. Is there...any way I can repay you, any at all?” He pressed his lips to the boy's head again. “I could never show how thankful I am but—”

“No, I couldn't.”

“You could!”

“Well, I _won't_ accept anything. Any human bein’ would've done the same thing I did; I'm just so hyper that I move faster than everyone else.”

Mark laughed, a deep velvety sound that was the tiniest bit contagious. “Well, I'm certainly not complaining. But I'm serious about that favor. If you ever change your mind, I come here every Friday at around 4. You could ask me then, if you wanted.” He gave one last, blinding smile and a small, shy wave before heading into the doughnut shop, clutching Halden close to his chest and threatening an early bedtime for the dangerous stunt he’d pulled.

Jack reprised his seat next to me, managing to look elated, forlorn, and traumatized all at once.

“Are you...doing okay?” I asked unsurely.

“Yeah,” he replied, weakly, then after clearing his throat, a stronger “Yeah, I’m fine.” He cracked a half-smile, staring at nowhere in particular. “Why wouldn’t I be?” Then, to himself, “An attractive stranger is grantin’ me a favor to repay me for savin’ his kid from being run over by a truck, why wouldn’t I be fine?”

“Did you get his phone number?”

“Wha—no!” Then, accusingly, “You were right here the entire time, why are you askin’ when you saw me not...do... _that_.”

“It was a sort of rhetorical intro into what I’m about to say, which concerns you getting Mark’s phone number.”

Jack looked at me incredulously. “Oh, are we on a first-name basis with him now?”

“Were you just going to call him ‘Attractive Guy Whose Kid I Saved From Dying’ every time you saw him?” I asked innocently.

“I mean—” He waved his arms around to compensate for his lack of words. "I don’t even—I mean, he’s _definitely_ not—”

“Well, I don’t think he’s married. No ring.” I pointed at my left hand for emphasis. “Call me judgmental, but he doesn’t seem like the type of guy that would just forget a symbol of eternal love on the nightstand, so he must not have one at all.”

“What if I just call you judgmental and leave it at that?” Jack asked, shifting slightly. “You are makin’ a lot of assumptions here—”

“And,” I continued, “Halden doesn’t look anything like him. He’s probably adopted.”

“Halden? Was that his name? I don't think I caught it.”

I nodded. “Too busy staring into the eyes of your future lover, huh?” I teased.

Jack huffed, and he scrunched up his face for a second before nodding. “Yeah, Halden’s a good name. It fits.”

“It does, but stop trying to distract me,” I said, narrowing my eyes at him. “I think we both know what my point is here. I don’t even know if you’re gay—”

“I’m bi, actually; why am I telling you this?” he asked himself, hiding his face in his hands.

“—but I know that you’re super into that guy. At the very least, if you come up with a way for him to repay you, and for some reason you can’t come here on Friday at 4, you can just text him.”

“That’s true, I guess. The last part, I mean, not—not the first part. About me bein’ into him. That's not true.” he added, color creeping up his neck and spreading like wildfire.

“Whatever you say, honey,” I said patronizingly, and slapped him on the arm motivationally. “Get in there already, would ya?”

“I don’t—”

“Listen, if you’re not gonna do it for me, do it for the kid. Poor Halden is gonna get an early bedtime if you don’t intervene somehow. Go in there. Get them digits, man.”

He laughed nervously, before taking a deep breath, standing, and walking into the shop. I could see his fingernails digging crescents into his palms.

I stared at the door for a moment, satisfied with myself, when a shout of my name drew my attention away.

“Astrid, I swear to Christ on a bicycle, if you do not hurry the _fuck_ up Matt’s gonna have both of our asses!”

It was my friend and castmate, Micah, from across the street. She was alone, the rest of our cast having gone on without her, and she looked panicked. I hadn’t even noticed that they’d left. A quick check of my phone alerted me to the fact that I had two minutes before our rehearsal started, and our director, Matt, was more than a little strict about punctuality.

“Yes, mother,” I yelled back, securing all of my things. I quickly scribbled a note to Jack on a spare receipt from inside the bag.

_Seán/Jack/SeánJack,_

_100% coming back Tuesday after next. Free doughnut for singing a song from a musical that day, no way the cast and I are missing it. You better be here. I wanna know how it went with Mark. ;-D ;-D_

_-A_

“Astrid,” Micah called again, and I saw that she had crossed the street and was now standing at the crosswalk. “Matt is literally going to _burn us alive. On stage_.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m coming, woman!” I joined her and, hand in hand, we ran across the road, blatantly ignoring the red hand on the crosswalk signal.

“What were you even doing over there?” she asked, as we jogged back to the school.

“Oh, you know, coloring, crocheting, meddling in the love lives of strangers. Normal stuff.” I shrugged nonchalantly at her incredulous look, though I had a feeling my eyes gave away how pleased I was with her expression. “I’ll tell you later. Right now, we need to get up there before Matt runs us through with one of the prop swords. Come on!”


	2. The Next Week

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, because nothing is sacred to me, I decided to write another chapter of this hot mess. Honestly, I should be working on one of the various fics I have planned, but whatever! I promise this'll be the last thing I write for this. Maybe. Probably.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was semi-beta'd by Blue_ii! Thanks for your help, I guess.
> 
> Like, I really am sorry about this, guys.

I stood outside Sweet Hoops yet again, alternating between tapping my foot impatiently and pacing. Rehearsals had ended almost an hour early, after our lead threw up on stage and our director hightailed it out of the auditorium, wailing. Evidently, he had a fear of vomiting. My cast and I rapped through “Guns and Ships”, got our free doughnuts, and headed back to the school to wait for rides or to drive themselves home.

I didn’t head back to school. In fact, I hadn’t even called my mom to tell her that rehearsals had ended early. That would mean I would have to go home, and I really, really wanted to see Jack again.

I couldn’t say exactly why I wanted to meet up with him so badly. Sure, we had been friendly at the time, and sure, I had successfully involved myself in his love life, but that didn’t mean anything in the long run. To him, I might just be another weird-ass stranger. ‘What if he doesn’t even remember my name?’ I thought, a little worriedly. ‘Oof, that would make this so much more awkward.’

The thought crossed my mind that I was getting ahead of myself. He might not show up at all. I certainly wouldn’t follow the instructions of a note left behind by some stranger; why would he?

“Astrid?” a familiarly accented voice inquired, tapping me gently on the shoulder.

“There you are!” I exclaimed, whirling around and hugging Jack tightly: mostly because I was happy to see him, but partially because I was happy he’d remembered my name. He seemed shocked at the friendly gesture, but returned the embrace with a feather-light touch, like he was afraid he would crush me. When I pulled away I saw why he had been so hesitant to touch me.

“You didn’t give me a chance to warn you, it’s your own damn fault,” he teased, as I stared in horror at the paint stains on my new white romper, mirror images of the ones on his own clothes. Today, the colors were more neutral: the peaches and light browns made me look like I’d been rolling in foundation. I put my hands on my hips defiantly.

“Joke’s on you, bro,” I said, pulling my shoulders back and holding my nose up prissily, “the paint splatter look is very in nowadays.”

“Finally, a fashion trend I can get behind!” He brushed his hair—freshly dyed electric green, I noticed—out of his eyes and struck a pose that any real model would have retched at. I rolled my eyes, pulling my lips into a thin line to keep myself from smiling.

“Why do you even have so much paint on you?” I asked him, brushing one of the benches off and taking a seat.

“New mural.” Jack took a seat next to me. “It’s on the side of that one Thai restaurant near Haven Street.”

I nodded in understanding. “Oh, so you’re the one that made the Glitch Girl?”

“Glitch Girl?”

"Yeah! She’s a lady with a glitchy body and she looks too nice to be called ‘Glitch Bitch’.”

He laughed heartily. “Actually, her name’s Charlie, but I’m seriously considerin’ callin’ her Glitch Bitch now.”

I swept a critical eye over Jack’s clothes. Everything he was wearing was black, which made the peach paint stand out even more. He seemed pretty fond of those ripped black jeans: he had been wearing them the last time I’d seen him, I think. “You shouldn’t be wearing so much black, it’s too warm for that,” I scolded. “You could get heat stroke or something.”

“Thanks for the reminder, ma.”

I massaged my temples. Being concerned about people was so taxing. “God, I feel like every time I see you, you’ll be covered in even more paint.”

Jack sniggered. “Hopefully this is the last time you see me, then.”

It took me a second to get the joke, and my brow furrowed in confusion and hurt as the idea of Jack not wanting anything to do with me materialized again.

“Oh, I didn’t mean it like that!” he said quickly, interrupting my thoughts. “I just meant that if I was covered in any more paint by our next meeting, I’d be some sort of human-paint abomination. I didn’t mean—”

“No, no, you’re fine,” I said lightly, and he was, but the stormy mood didn’t lift.

“I probably won’t see you again, after this,” I said, mostly to myself.

“What makes you say that?”

“Well, I guess we don’t really have a reason to see each other,” I elaborated. “We’re still pretty much strangers. Not to mention the age difference. Do you know how much shit I would get from my mom, justifiably, for meeting up with an adult male after school semi-regularly?” Jack snorted at that and shrugged. “I don’t even have my driver’s license yet.”

He looked at me skeptically. “How old are you?”

“15. You?”

“27. So I’m not that much older than you.”

“You’re 12 years older than me!” I exclaimed. “People who are a year older than me are, like, 50 in my head. You’re practically a relic of the ancient world.”

“Age means less the older you get,” he said sagely, and I retched.

“Sorry, I was trying to cough up the geriatric wisdom you were shoving down my throat.” He glared, and I smirked back before softening my tone. “It’s weird: I feel like I’ve known you for a while, even though we only met last week.”

“Same,” Jack replied. “It’s even weirder for me, seein’ as you weren’t the nicest stranger.”

“Excuse you! I was perfectly well-mannered. At least I didn’t blow a factory’s worth of smoke into your lungs like that fucking clown would’ve.”

“Oh, God, the fuckin’ clown!” he laughed, scrunching up his face as if he could smell the smoke. “It feels like that was years ago. Like, we’re celebratin’ the anniversary of our first meetin’ or somethin’.”

“Speaking of meetings,” I segued slyly, “did you ever meet up with that guy?”

Jack gave me a blank look. I couldn't tell if he was a really good actor or completely stupid. “What guy?”

“Don’t play dumb with me, SeánJack. 5’11, black hair? Sort of attractive?” He shook his head slowly, and I huffed out my nose, frustrated. I mean, there were only so many people I could be talking about: we didn’t have many mutual acquaintances. “You literally saved his kid from the cold embrace of death?”

Jack’s face lit up at the last sentence. “Oh, you mean Mark?”

“We’re on a first-name basis with the guy now, huh?” I asked, parroting his words from our last meeting.

“Shut up.” He bumped me with his shoulder.

“So what, did you go in there, tell him how hot he was, and put your number in his phone?”

“No, I asked, like a courteous human bein’.”

I leaned forward in anticipation. “And he said yes?”

“You seem surprised. Yeah, he said he was fine with it,” he mumbled nonchalantly, but the way he kept fidgeting with his fingernails told me how nervous the recollection was making him.

“And you texted him?”

“...yeah, a few times.”

“What’d you learn?” I pried, trying to keep the eager inquisitive tone out of my voice.

“What are we, a detective agency?” I shrugged, my dimple showing, and Jack rolled his eyes up, trying to recall details. “Uh, he’s from Cincinnati; he was goin’ to school for engineerin’ before he dropped out; he’s a huge space nerd, and his mom has, like, four dogs but that’s apparently not enough.”

I beamed. They had obviously talked a lot. “And then, after bonding, you asked him out!”

There was a beat of silence. Jack opened his mouth like he wanted to say something, and closed it again. I waved my hands, prompting his response.

“Right?”

“Um, no.” Jack scratched at the nape of his neck sheepishly as I stared at him in shock and exasperation. “I was gonna ask him to get coffee with me or somethin’, but then I...didn’t?”

“You can _not_ be serious,” I sighed to myself. Lord, an unrequited lover is a hot fucking mess. Maybe that’s why pining fics are so popular.

“I mean, it’s not a big deal. I wasn’t really expectin’ anything.”

I tilted my head, a challenge in my eyes. “That is _such_ a lie. If you didn’t ‘expect anything’, why did you get Mark’s number in the first place?”

“‘Cause you would have killed me if I didn’t?”

“And yet you didn’t ask him out even though you knew how much shit I would give you for it.” I gave an emphatic nod. “Truly flawless logic.”

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed,” Jack drawled sardonically, “but he’s _way_ out of my league.”

I snorted. “Believe me, I’ve noticed.”

Jack narrowed his eyes at me. “Are you this rude to everyone?”

“Nope, but special people get special treatment.” I gave him a cute smile and curled my fingers into a heart before getting back to the task at hand. “You’re avoiding my question, though. He’s obviously interested, that’s why he gave you his number.”

“That’s not why—”

“Shut up and listen to me.” I pointed at him accusingly, and he fell silent. “Look, I know a lot more than you think; don’t let my age and fat face fool you. Fanfiction has taught me the ways of evasively letting people know that you’re into them, and he’s totally into you.”

“...life is _not_ a fanfiction.”

“Do you recall that thing you did where you used a well-timed superhuman ability to save the life of someone important to the main love interest? ‘Cause that sounds like a fanfiction to me.”

“Alright, well,” Jack conceded, “if this was a fanfiction, what would happen next?”

I thought for a moment. “Well, we’d have some quality banter, and I would leave on some sort of cliffhanger or prophetic note or something. You would go home, have an inner monologue about how miserable you are without Mark while watching a movie or something, and then you’d get up the courage to text him or he would text you.”

“Do you think I could schedule the inner monologue for tomorrow? I’m really tryin’ to catch up on Rick and Morty.”

I clicked my tongue. “Sass me all you want, you’ll see I’m right. I write fanfictions, and we are literally living out the plot of one. I’m trying to help you game the system.”

He rolled his eyes. “Whatever you say, weirdo.”

“You wanna test my theory, o ye of little faith?” I dared him. “Go into your texts, look at Mark’s messages and just wait there.”

Jack complied with my demand hesitantly. We waited for a solid minute, Jack tapping at his phone screen (at my insistence) to keep it awake, when I cried,“ Told you!” and gestured down the sidewalk with a triumphant look.

My cunning plan worked exactly as expected: Jack jumped and leaned over to see for himself, taking his focus off the phone in front of him. His momentary distraction gave me the perfect opportunity to swipe his phone from him and catapult myself out of my seat.

Jack had been shocked into inaction, but boy howdy was he pissed. “What the fuck? Give me my phone back, bitch!”

“Come and get it if you want it so much!” I yelled, already sprinting around the building. A quick scan revealed a thin corridor between the brick building and a silver sedan I could nestle myself in. A grimy piece of cardboard next to the trashcan completed my hiding place.

The keyboard was still up in the messenger. I glanced through a few of the recent messages, trying to get a feel for Jack’s texting style.

_i really want a dog but idunno which one to get :/_

_I have a golden retriever, she’s really friendly but she’s not one of those lazy puppers. Lots of walks at fuck o’clock in the morning._

_not gettin a retriever then :P i need my beauty sleep_

_Takes a lot to stay as cute as you, huh?_

_shut up you_

These two were _too much_.

I cackled evilly (and quietly) to myself at the prospect of my devious plan, sliding my fingers across the cracked screen. Nothing happened.

“Ugh, am I the only person that uses Swype?” I grumbled, cracking both of my thumbs and typing out a message manually.

Jack was already stomping around the back parking lot in a fury, although my trashy cover ensured he couldn’t see me. His accent had gotten thicker with his choler. “I swear to Christ, Astrid, if you don’t give me back my fuckin’ phone—”

“Oh, sorry about that,” I called, not moving from my hiding spot. “I don’t know what got into me.” I pressed the blue “send” arrow triumphantly and watched with satisfaction as the text bubble appeared on screen.

Jack stomped over to me, ripping the cardboard away. His face was a bright red, and his hair hung in his face. He would've been more at home in a straitjacket. I offered him his phone, and snatched it back indignantly.

“Well, there you are, good sir. Your baby is safe and sound.” I smiled at him genially. “I wanted to look through all your no-doubt adorable back-and-forth but I figured I’d allow you some privacy.”

Still steaming, Jack glanced at his phone screen, and all the red drained from his face, leaving behind pure white skin.

_its been really nice talking w/you recently :D was wondering if you wanna meet up for dinner sometime_

A hand came over his mouth. He looked up from the phone at me, and he looked heartbroken. I could see pools forming in the blue of his eyes.

I stopped being an asshole long enough to ask him what was wrong. “I only typed what was true,” I argued. “Besides, you could be going out as friends. It’s not necessarily a first base sort of thing.”

He still looked pitiful, so I got up from my hidey hole and wrapped my arms around him. He stiffened at first, but I squeezed tighter and he reluctantly relaxed.

“What are you tryin’ to do, suffocate me?” Jack sniffed. “I can’t hold this against you for the rest of your life if I’m fuckin’ dead.”

I glanced up at him, which wasn’t very hard because he was so short. “Can I apologize for being a dick without your sass?”

“What kind of friend would I be then?” he replied, and he sounded less like he was going to burst out crying. Hugs really are little miracles.

“Anyways,” I said, leaning in towards him, “I’m mostly trying to look at your phone screen to see what Mark responds with.”

Jack wiped at one of his eyes. “You know, he might not respond immedia—”

 _Ping_.

I gave Jack a self-satisfied smirk. “What did I say, man? In. A. Fanfic.”

_Sure! You actually caught me at a really good time, my mom is watching Halden for me all week. Do you have a place in mind?_

“Well, that explains the fast answer. No kid in the house, he’s probably been hovering around the phone, waiting for you to text,” I muttered. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Jack chewing his bottom lip intensely. “Do you have a place in mind?”

“Do you? You were the one who texted him that in the first place!”

“Yeah, but I didn't think this far ahead.”

Jack bit one of his knuckles, thinking, before typing something out.

_there’s a thai place on haven street called maesim thats pretty good_

_You just want me to see your mural, don’t you?_

_...maybe a little :P_

“You told him about the mural?” I asked, now on my tiptoes with my hands on his shoulders.

“Of course I told him about the mural, it’s fuckin’ amazing and I made it.” Jack said matter-of-factly, before shrugging me off forcefully. I teetered on the balls of my feet before reattaching myself to Jack’s side.

“What else did you tell him?” I asked, in a suggestive whisper.

“Wh—uh—I don’t know!” Jack sputtered, flustered. “What are you—”

“Shut up, he texted you back,” I shushed him, and he shot a indignant glare at me before looking back at the screen.

_What days are you free this week?_

_i should be free thurs, is that ok with you_

_Yeah! What time should I meet you there?_

_like 730 should be fine_

_Okay, I’ll see you then!_

“And look at that!” I let go of Jack and started dancing the shimmy from Dora the Explorer. “Lo hicimos, we fucking did it!”

“‘We’?” Jack raised his eyebrows, and I gave him a critical look.

“It was a cooperative effort! I took charge and you...did some stuff.” I waved my hand dismissively, walking back to the front of the shop. “Besides, you would not have been able to do that by yourself.”

“I would’ve been fine,” he retorted from behind me. “It just...would’ve taken me longer.”

“When you’re chasing an attractive guy with an adorable baby son, time is of the essence, friendo.”

“I can’t believe I’m takin’ love advice from a stranger who’s 12 years younger than me,” Jack lamented, shaking his head.

“I can’t believe I’m giving love advice to a stranger who’s 12 years older than me. It’s a crazy world we live in, huh?” I stood with my fists on my hips and nodded resolutely. “Well, I should be going.”

“Why so soon?” Jack smirked. “That anxious to get away from me?”

“That,” I said, pulling my phone out and showing him my notification screen, “and the fact that I have two missed calls from my mom, and if she calls again I’m gonna lose my YouTube privileges.”

“Oh, hurry up, then!” he laughed. “Bye, Astrid!”

“Bye, Jack!” I called, making my way towards the intersection.

“Wait, hold on a sec!”

I stopped in my tracks and did a 180. “What, did I forget something?” I patted my arms and legs as if I was going to find something there.

“Sort of.” Jack stood up and took out his phone. “I wanted to give you my number.”

“What? Why?”

“I don’t know, I mean...” He shifted his weight. “You said this might be the last time we see each other, that doesn’t mean it has to be the last time we talk. If you don’t want it, then—”

“No, I definitely want it. I need more people to send dank memes to. Give it up, Irish.”

“Is that all I am to you? An accent?” he huffed indignantly, but gave me his number anyways.

“Well, I guess this is it, then,” I said, after snapping an intentionally blurry photo of Jack and setting it as his contact avatar.

“I mean, not really, now that we’ve got this.” He shook his phone, my equally blurry contact photo staring at me from the screen.

“Sh, I’m trying to make this more theatrical. I’m a drama kid, it’s what we do.”

“If I gave you a hug, would that make it more theatrical?”

I grinned and held my arms open. Jack slipped his hands under my arms and squeezed me tightly, lifting me up so I was standing on the balls of my feet. He smelled like paint, and fresh bread, and hair dye. It was nice.

In my pocket, my phone buzzed, rudely interrupting the heartfelt moment between Jack and I.

I slipped my phone out my pocket and blanched at my mother’s smiling contact avatar. I had a feeling she wouldn’t be as happy as her photo when I saw her. There go my plans to binge-watch Escape the Night.

“Shit, shit, shit,” I cursed.

“Language,” Jack reprimanded me.

“Yeah, yeah.” I slapped him on the arm, preparing to sprint across the street. “Text me when something cutesy happens.”

“You got it, Asteroid.” He gave me a lazy two-fingered salute. “Stay in touch.”

I flipped him the bird as I ran off, and his laugh followed me all the way to my mom’s minivan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, onto the next thing! I'm thinking about writing a story with Markiplier's egos next, and maybe starting my first-ever long fic! So we'll see how that goes.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't care that Warfstache killed Septiplier, IT'S STILL ALIVE IN MY HEART  
> Kudos and comments are appreciated, and (as always) I hope you enjoyed the story! Side note: I'm considering writing a short follow-up to this. What do you guys think? Should I write one more thing or is it better this way?


End file.
